Chapter 58 - 56: Want to Earn Money?

Chapter 58: Chapter 56: Want to Earn Money?

「The next day, on the bus back.」

Kosopech was slumped in the very back seat. A bucket was placed in front of him, and he would occasionally shudder and dry-heave.

Van Stiake frowned as he looked at Kosopech’s hungover state. "What happened yesterday?" he asked.

Billiar immediately pointed at Suk. "You should ask him."

Suk blinked innocently. "What’s it got to do with me?"

"Weren’t you the one egging them on? Would Kosopech and Ivan Krich have had a drinking contest otherwise?" Mashovich scolded good-naturedly.

"They drank of their own free will. It has nothing to do with me." Suk turned his head away, refusing to admit a thing.

Mashovich and the others shook their heads helplessly. Last night, that guy Suk had been bouncing all over the place, instigating and goading everyone to drink.

Since he was underage, he didn’t drink a single drop, but he made sure everyone else got plastered.

Especially Kosopech and Ivan Krich. Both of them had to be carried back by their teammates.

However, because of this, Van Stiake probably wouldn’t be giving them any more time off.

Mostar Zrinjski might not have had the strictest discipline, but drinking during the season was another matter. Getting dead drunk like that was sure to have a major impact on their performance.

As for some bullshit Sarajevo nightlife? There was none!

It was just a bunch of guys going wild!

Upon returning to Mostar Town, they received a warm welcome from the town’s residents.

"You played great!"

"We crushed Sarajevo!"

"First in the league! Hahaha! We’re number one!"

"Modric, Suk, you guys were amazing!"

Crowds lining the streets would be an exaggeration, but from the moment the bus entered town, residents who saw it would stop in their tracks. They’d give the bus a thumbs-up, shouting their praise.

Mostar wasn’t a big city. It was a small town in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the football club was the one thing it could truly be proud of.

For years, they had been overshadowed by Sarajevo. And though they chanted about challenging for the championship every year, they had never once reached the top since the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League was founded.

The current trophy room was filled with antique trophies from the days of the former Yugoslavia.

Because of this, both the town’s residents and the club desperately longed for a new trophy—a symbol of conquering the Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League.

Back at the club, some of the higher-ups also showed up to give out commendations.

A major event like defeating Sarajevo naturally deserved a proper round of praise.

Besides verbal praise, they also provided some material rewards.

Mostar Zrinjski’s financial situation wasn’t particularly good, so there wasn’t much they could offer. For some of the players who had performed exceptionally well, they gave out monetary bonuses.

Especially Suk and Modric.

Modric’s goal bonus, Suk’s assist bonus—these all added some Mark to their income.

Seeing the money go into his own pocket, Suk felt both happy and secure.

After returning to his dorm, Suk set aside a portion of his salary from the past few months for living expenses. The bulk of it, he stuffed into an envelope.

"I’m heading out!"

Suk called out to Modric as he grabbed the envelope full of money.

Modric was writing a letter. He gave a small wave, indicating he had heard.

Suk ran out of the dorm and jogged all the way down the small path leading down the hill. He soon arrived at Oripé’s house.

It was Sunday, so there was no school, and Oripé was holed up at home.

Before he even entered the house, Suk started shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Oripé! Oripé! I’m here!"

Oripé opened the door, and Suk zipped inside in a flash.

He first went to the refrigerator, took out a glass, and chugged a big gulp of cold water. Only then did he place the envelope of money on the table.

"Help me get in touch with Kovic. Have him send this money to the orphanage."

Suk had always lived a hard life, with no money in his pockets, barely able to look after himself.

But he understood the principle: when you’re poor, you focus on yourself; when you prosper, you help the world.

When he was poor, he was dirt poor, struggling just to get by.

Now that life was a little better and he could even save some money, he felt it was necessary to send a portion of it to the orphanage.

The orphanage where Suk grew up was in a suburb of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia.

Although it was a church-affiliated orphanage, the funding it received was limited. Most of the time, it had to rely on public donations, and life there was very hard.

The old director was a priest, and priests weren’t allowed to go out and work.

But the situation back then was so dire that, in order to feed the children, the old director even went against his faith, sneaking out at night to work odd jobs to support the orphanage.

Without the old director, Suk and the other children might have starved to death during those turbulent times.

Therefore, now that he was able, Suk felt it was necessary to help out. Although it wasn’t much money, it could still improve their situation to some extent.

Oripé understood all this. He put the envelope in a drawer and said, "Kovic is returning to port tomorrow. It just so happens he’s making a trip to Croatia. Even though he’s not going to Zagreb, he can make a detour."

Suk nodded. "Thank Kovic for me."

With that said, Suk turned to leave.

"Hey!" Oripé suddenly called out to Suk.

"What’s up?" Suk asked, turning his head.

Oripé said, "The day before yesterday, someone came to see me. Said he was a football agent and wanted to get in touch with you through me."

"A football agent?" Suk blinked.

In professional football, a good agent is incredibly rare.

Like the future Mendes, Raiola, Barnett, and so on...

For a player, an excellent football agent can solve a lot of problems, help plan their career, and provide immense help in the transfer market.

So far, Suk indeed didn’t have an agent. He made all his decisions himself, under the care of his guardian, Oripé.

If he had an agent, things would certainly be easier. At the very least, he could devote more of his energy to training and matches.

"Next time he comes..."

KNOCK KNOCK!

There was a knock at the door.

Oripé got up and went to open the door.

A skinny, middle-aged man stood at the door, dressed in a suit and tie despite the hot weather, his hair slicked back in a greasy comb-over.

His cheekbones were high, and a practiced, professional smile was plastered on his face. The overall impression he gave wasn’t very good.

The man in the suit saw Suk, and his eyes lit up. He immediately said, "A pleasure to meet you, Suk. You can call me Porterach. I’m a professional football agent. Here’s my card."

Suk glanced at Porterach, then took the business card.

The card listed an agency based in Bosnia and Herzegovina, but Suk had never heard of it.

Porterach looked past Oripé to Suk and said, "Can we talk? Your performance has been outstanding, and I believe you have even greater potential waiting to be discovered."

Suk glanced at Oripé.

Oripé shrugged. "Want to talk?"

Only then did Suk nod.

"Come in!"

Porterach walked into Oripé’s home with a smile. Once the three of them were seated, the man began to lavishly praise Suk, commending his recent performances.

However, he didn’t mention a single word about his own professional services or any career plans for Suk.

Watching Porterach shower him with over-the-top praise, Suk quickly grew tired of it.

"Mr. Porterach, shouldn’t we get down to business?" Suk’s face showed a hint of impatience.

Porterach snapped out of it and chuckled. "Right! Business. Business is important."

Porterach cleared his throat, took a deep breath, looked at Suk, and said suddenly, "Suk, want to make some money?"

Suk froze, but his expression quickly darkened completely.

At his side, Oripé also caught on. He rose slowly, his voice suppressing his fury. "Get out!"

Porterach immediately said, "Hey! This is a great way to make money! You play so well, one or two bad performances won’t get you benched. You just have to play a little less seriously, and you can earn lots and lots of money. No one’s going to say no to money."

Suk’s expression was as black as ink.

Oripé couldn’t take it anymore. He yanked Porterach to his feet and roared, "Get out! Get out of my house! You piece of shit! Suk would never agree to your disgusting proposal! Get out! Get out! Get out!!"

Amidst Oripé’s roars, Porterach was shoved and pushed all the way out of the house.

"These guys are stinking rats from the sewer. They only care about profit. Once you do it, they’ll have something to hold over you forever," Oripé said sternly. "Suk, you can’t be tempted."

He was afraid that because Suk was young and had lived through such hard times, he might be lured by the money.

Suk took a deep breath and turned his head. "Don’t worry, I won’t agree to it."

Suk stood up. "I should get back."

"I’ll walk you back!"

Oripé immediately threw on his coat.

He was worried that guy hadn’t gone far. If he started pestering Suk, it would be bad news.

Oripé escorted Suk all the way to the club. Only after watching Suk enter the training grounds did he leave.

Suk, for his part, also let out a small sigh of relief.

He knew that professional football wasn’t all sunshine and glory; there was a lot of filth hidden in the shadows.

He just hadn’t expected to be targeted so quickly.

"Someone asked you to throw a match?"

Back in the dorm, an angry expression appeared on Modric’s face. He exclaimed, "You should have punched him right in the face!"

"I already refused," Suk said. "But he probably won’t give up that quickly. I’ll try to stay inside the club grounds as much as possible." He sighed. "The better you perform, the more trouble like this finds its way to you."

Suk was frustrated.

As his performance improved, these scummy characters started paying attention to him.

Before, his reputation wasn’t big enough and he couldn’t guarantee enough playing time, but now Suk was clearly a key player for Mostar Zrinjski.

Because of this, these vultures looking for a profit had started to latch onto him.

"The guy’s name is Porterach," Suk said. "He’s with the Bosnia and Herzegovina Green Grass Professional Economy Company, but it’s probably a shell company with a fake name."

"Wait!" Modric said in surprise. "Are you sure it was Porterach?"

Suk nodded. "That’s right! What’s wrong?"

Modric said, "You’d better talk to the Head Coach. This is a bit complicated!"