Chapter 15: Well Done, Modric!

"I must succeed in England!"

Modric had made this vow long before arriving in London. Back in Zagreb, when he decided to take the gamble of joining Bayswater Chinese, he knew it would be the defining move of his career. It was a risk—not just professionally, but personally.

At the tribunal hearing, when Yang Cheng publicly called him a genius, Modric felt something he had rarely experienced in his footballing life: trust. Genuine, unwavering trust.

Gratitude filled his heart. Aside from his childhood youth coach, no one had ever placed such faith in him. He was determined to prove himself worthy of it.

So, he gave everything. Every day in training, he pushed himself to the limit. The summer training camp had been grueling—so much so that his body would cramp daily.

Even now, he could recall the sharp pain vividly.

American fitness coach Thad Fawcett had explained that his body was still adjusting to the demands of high-intensity football. The coaching staff had crafted a regimen of stretching and strength training to help him build resilience. His diet was strictly monitored—even down to the water he drank.

All these adjustments had helped him grow stronger. But deep down, Modric understood something fundamental: no matter how much he prepared, the English game was brutal.

And he had underestimated just how brutal.

During a preseason friendly against West Ham, he had left the pitch with his knee pads torn apart by an opponent's studs.

Would things improve in official matches?

No.

English referees often turned a blind eye to rough play—especially against away players. Here, aggression was glorified. Players like Roy Keane and Patrick Vieira, notorious for their tough, sometimes ruthless, style, were revered as legends.

This was a reality Modric had not fully expected.

But he was not intimidated.

He was from the Balkans—a region steeped in resilience, a land that had endured war and hardship. He knew timidity was worthless.

The only solution was to get stronger.

With that in mind, Thad Fawcett and Oliver Bartlett designed a rigorous training plan for him.

Flexibility and endurance were his strengths. His slim frame and height, however, were natural disadvantages.

In matches, defenders took full advantage of his physique. They targeted him, charging in the moment he received the ball. It led to frequent mistakes and frustration.

Yang Cheng intervened. The coaching team devised drills to help Modric evade challenges and avoid unnecessary physical battles.

Brian Kidd also provided crucial advice: to survive in England, Modric needed to refine every movement—make them quicker, sharper, more decisive.

So, he worked.

Every day.

And though he told no one, he carried an unwavering determination in his heart.

"I must succeed in England."

"I must help Bayswater Chinese and the coach achieve glory."

That belief grew stronger with every challenge.

And today, as Bayswater trailed 1-3 against Brighton, it burned brighter than ever.

When Yang Cheng made a bold double substitution—replacing both full-backs, Steve Jenkins and Tony Capaldi, for Ricky Lambert and Lee Williamson—Modric felt the shift.

Lambert would spearhead the attack, while Williamson, a tireless runner with solid defensive skills, slotted into midfield.

Heddlestone dropped deeper into defense, forming a three-man backline.

Yang Cheng's intent was clear: they were going all in.

Even at 1-3, he refused to give up.

The midfield had to hold.

Captain Martin Rowland recognized this, dropping back alongside Williamson to secure the center.

Modric moved to the right flank, scanning the field. With no overlapping full-backs, Ribery and Martin Devany had to rely on their individual skill.

The game plan was obvious—attack through Ribery.

The Frenchman's dribbling was unparalleled in the squad. But Brighton had anticipated this, closing down his space aggressively.

Lambert played a crucial role, pulling defenders away and offering support. Steed, too, drifted into dangerous positions.

The clock ticked down.

At the 81st minute, the opportunity finally arrived.

Once again, Ribery pressed forward on the left and whipped a cross into the box.

The Brighton center-back cleared it with a header—but only as far as the top of the penalty arc.

Lambert, positioned smartly, won the second header, nodding it back into the area.

Chaos ensued.

Steed attempted to control the loose ball, but Brighton's defense scrambled it away again—this time sending it high and looping towards the right side of the penalty area.

Modric had been lurking. Waiting.

Without hesitation, he surged forward.

Before the defender could close him down, he controlled the ball with his right foot, then deftly shifted it to his left.

His marker reacted fast, stabilizing himself and blocking the angle.

A lesser player might have panicked. Might have lost control.

But Modric was composed.

He executed a perfect feint, dragging the ball back to his right foot just in time. His defender lunged, but Modric slipped past him with a sharp touch forward.

The moment was his.

He struck.

The shot was fierce, precise, unstoppable.

The ball rocketed into the net before Brighton's keeper or defenders could react.

2-3!

For a second, there was stunned silence.

Then, the stadium erupted.

More than 2,000 Bayswater fans rose to their feet, roaring in celebration.

Modric stood frozen for a heartbeat, almost in disbelief.

Then the adrenaline kicked in.

He turned, sprinted towards the west stand, and, in a burst of pure elation, executed a perfect backflip before punching the air in triumph.

Well Done, Modric!

On the sidelines, Brian Kidd shook his head in astonishment.

"What a goal…" he murmured, still processing what he had just witnessed.

Yang Cheng, too, couldn't suppress his grin.

This goal was more than just a lifeline—it was a statement.

Even if they didn't win tonight, this moment alone could change everything.

But Yang Cheng wasn't finished.

He made another substitution, bringing in Andy Holdsworth for the exhausted Rowland.

With fresh legs in midfield, he pushed Modric further forward.

Modric, still riding the momentum of his goal, became even more dangerous.

Bayswater Chinese were relentless.

Brighton, desperate to hold their lead, retreated into a deep defensive block.

But their resolve was cracking.

And in the 89th minute, Modric struck again—not by scoring, but by creating the equalizer.

Receiving the ball near the edge of the box, he twisted past a defender and spotted Ribery's run.

A perfectly timed through ball split the defense.

Ribery sprinted onto it, beat his man, and cut the ball across the face of goal.

Lambert rushed the near post, drawing attention.

Steed, unmarked in the center, lunged forward.

The net rippled.

3-3!

Bayswater's fans exploded into sheer madness.

Yang Cheng roared in triumph.

Even the Brighton bench looked stunned.

Their carefully structured defense had been torn apart.

Jonathan Steed, the young striker, was mobbed by teammates as he celebrated his fourth goal of the season.

Four goals in five league matches.

At only 20 years old.

Bayswater had done the impossible.

And Modric?

He had proven that he belonged.