Chapter 29: Selected for the Big List

Koso Pechi's house sat along the banks of the Neretva River—a two-story villa with a small garden.

A rich aroma of barbecue drifted through the air from the garden.

Today, Koso Pechi was splurging. He'd bought a large bucket of beef for grilling.

Yes, a bucket!

As the beef sizzled on the grill and the mouthwatering smell of roasted meat filled the air, Suk's eyes lit up.

Hiss!

Biting his fork, Suk turned to the grill master, Kova Pechi, and asked impatiently, "Is it ready yet?"

Seeing Suk's eagerness, Kova Chichi smiled. "Almost."

He flipped the meat one last time. The rich aroma intensified. The grilling was finally done.

"It's ready! Let's eat!"

Kova Chichi shouted, and four people who had been playing games indoors rushed out. Modrić also walked over from a corner, holding a plate in hand. They all lined up, ready to be served.

Koso Pechi handed out generous portions of beef, giving extra helpings to Suk and Modrić.

Looking at the thick slices on his plate, Modrić frowned slightly. "That's too much. I can't finish it."

"Too much?" Suk looked up and stabbed one of Modrić's slices with his fork. "I can eat it!"

Then he dashed to the table and began devouring his meal.

Suk had a deep obsession with food. Maybe it was because he'd gone hungry too many times before—he just couldn't resist delicious meals.

These past few days, Suk had been living his dream.

He'd joined Mostar Zrinjski, playing in the Bosnia and Herzegovina Premier League. He could finally eat his fill every day—and eat well.

That was something Suk had never dared to dream of before.

Everyone sat down. There were seven players in total—all starters for the team:

Four defenders: Haskiwić, Masović, Hacici, and Krpić.

One midfielder: Modrić.

Two forwards: Koso Pechi and Suk.

Many were curious why Croatian names often ended with "ić."

Actually, in Croatian, "ić" means "son of." For example, "Modrić" means "son of Modri."

Suk buried his head in his plate, tearing into the beef while the others chatted.

"We're up against Sarajevo Railway Workers tomorrow," Hacici said. "Tough team. Last season we played them three times—won one, drew one, and lost one. We barely scraped by the last match."

"Their central axis is strong: Mekić, Vuković, and Vrhovac."

"The league's played three rounds so far. Sarajevo and Tuzla Sloboda have perfect records—three wins, 9 points. The rest of us, five teams including us, have one win, one draw, one loss—4 points each."

"Would've been easier if we'd beaten Sarajevo in the last game."

"They studied us well. Koso Pechi was completely shut down by their tall center-backs—couldn't win any headers."

Mostar Zrinjski, nicknamed Header Specialist Team, had a reputation for scoring only via headers.

So, teams had started deploying two tall center-backs to clog the airspace and shut down Koso Pechi.

Still chewing, Suk asked, "What if they bring two tall center-backs again tomorrow?"

Everyone paused. Koso Pechi frowned slightly.

Ever since Sarajevo used that tactic, other teams had started copying it. Velez had done the same—but their center-backs weren't strong enough, and Koso Pechi had still found openings.

Koso Pechi sighed. "Then tomorrow depends on you."

"Me?" Suk asked, pointing at himself.

"The coach wants to develop a second strategy—for games like this. Our old tactic was too one-dimensional. Tall center-backs shut me down—but they might not work against you."

The defenders around the table chuckled.

They knew just how tricky it was to face a forward with a completely different style.

Unlike Koso Pechi, who relied on strength, height, and powerful shots, Suk brought speed, agility, and clever passes.

With his smart runs, Suk could split a defense wide open.

Even the usually reserved Modrić chimed in, "If the Railway Workers stick to that strategy, they're going to lose badly."

Suk blinked. These guys seemed more confident in him than he was in himself.

He muttered, "Captain, I'm your competitor."

Koso Pechi laughed. "You? A competitor? We play in different systems."

He grinned. "Do you think your jumping is better than mine?"

Suk said nothing.

He probably couldn't out-jump Koso Pechi even while standing on a box.

"After dinner, everyone turn in early," Koso Pechi said. "Especially you, Suk—tomorrow is your debut."

Suk immediately nodded. "Got it!"

Around 6 p.m., Suk, full and satisfied, strolled up the winding path with Modrić.

"I'm a little nervous. Tomorrow's my debut!" he admitted.

"Don't be," Modrić replied calmly. "I'll help you."

"You're a good brother!" Suk smiled, patting Modrić on the shoulder. "But don't go out of your way. Let's see how the match plays out. If I can score, great. If not, I'll set you up for a few runs."

Modrić nodded.

Back at the dorms, they washed up.

Suk carefully hung up his match jersey. It was the one he'd wear in the Bosnia and Herzegovina Premier League.

Number 99.

He stared at it for a long time, starlight gleaming faintly in his eyes.

---

Match Day

By noon, the team gathered in the locker room.

The atmosphere was heavier than usual—recent matches hadn't gone well.

Coach Van Stjak began reading out the eighteen-man match roster.

Suk could sense the tension among the substitutes—being named was everything.

First, the starting eleven.

Then the substitutes.

"Suk!"

He was stunned—he was the first name called among the substitutes.

Joy surged through him.

He'd made the squad just after joining.

Some of the other subs looked on with envy.

"Congrats, Suk!"

"Told you you'd make it!"

"Good luck!"

Koso Pechi and the others cheered him on.

Modrić smiled quietly, proud of his friend.

The seven substitutes were: Suk, Boame, Barton, Sterk, Rovisteski, Perić, and backup keeper Paković.

They boarded an old bus and rattled toward Zrinjski Stadium.

The stadium was in a prime location—you could even see Mostar's Old Bridge from there.

It didn't belong to the club, though—it was owned by the town government. The club and town shared profits.

Only about 500–600 fans were in attendance, but to Suk, it felt like a crowd.

Upon arrival, they hurried to the locker room.

Van Stjak carefully announced the starting eleven—it was the strongest lineup available.

He hadn't planned to start Suk, which made sense. Suk was still adapting and learning the system.

During warmups, the starters trained under the assistant coach, while the subs warmed up on their own.

Suk stayed focused—he knew he might be subbed in.

After warming up, he stepped aside and opened his Player Panel.

---

Player Panel

Diamond Card (Special Type): Inzaghi's Awareness

Red Card (Skill): Torrist's Short Pass

Red Card (Special Type): Andre's Swift Feet

Red Card (Skill): Stamina Recovery Card ×2

White Card (Skill): Roberts' Dribbling

White Card (Skill): Tony's Interception

---

Attributes

Name: Suk

Height: 156 cm

Weight: 48.5 kg

Speed: 74 + 15

Agility: 80

Strength: 61

Explosiveness: 78

---

Suk smiled.

His height had finally broken 155 cm—just barely, but still a win.

His speed had increased by 2 points. Maybe it was just longer legs?

He'd also gained half a kilo. Both strength and explosiveness were up by 1 point.

His body was developing, and his stats were climbing. It was a satisfying feeling.

His cards hadn't changed. The three white cards were unequippable for now, but those two Stamina Recovery Cards were extremely useful.

After double-checking everything, Suk sat down on the bench, ready.