Chapter 97: Small Clique

"...Šuker crosses!! Mandžukić!! Ahhh~~ he missed!!"

Mandžukić landed, turning his head to look at the ball flying out above the crossbar, a deep unwillingness in his eyes.

He had leapt with all his strength, yet still couldn't keep up with the team's overall rhythm.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking his cheeks and jersey.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and shouted:

"Again!!"

The match had reached the 78th minute, and the score stood at 3:1.

At the 55th minute, Davor Šuker was subbed off, with Mandžukić coming on in his place.

Then, in the 67th minute, Slaven Belupo managed to grab a goal from a counterattack.

After Šuker was subbed off, he became a marked man for Slaven Belupo and was heavily restricted.

No one was occupying the central position to pull the defense, and Mandžukić failed to become a focal point.

This made it hard for Dinamo Zagreb to play as they did in the first half.

And Mandžukić bore much of the blame.

"Mario can't keep up with the rhythm!"

Sitting next to head coach Bešić, Davor Šuker shook his head as he watched Mandžukić running aimlessly on the field: "His tactical awareness is poor!"

Bešić didn't say anything, his expression remained calm.

Time ticked on, and the match neared its end.

Mandžukić continued to perform poorly.

His running, timing, off-the-ball movement—all were subpar.

It seemed like he was completely out of sync with the current system, which allowed Slaven Belupo to ease their pressure in the center and double up on Šuker.

Šuker tried to break through several times, but with multiple players marking him, he couldn't shake free.

Even when he dropped deeper, he was tracked and disrupted.

Until the final whistle, Dinamo Zagreb failed to score again.

Still, thanks to their excellent first-half performance, Dinamo Zagreb secured a 3:1 win over Slaven Belupo and got a great start to the season.

When the game ended, Dinamo Zagreb fans gave a rousing round of applause.

This was not only for the excellent young players but mostly for the man at the front wearing the captain's armband—Davor Šuker.

"Šuker, welcome home!!"

"Golden left foot! Your left foot has always been brilliant!"

"Šuker! You'll forever be Dinamo Zagreb's pride!"

"Well played!! Šuker!"

Davor Šuker kept waving in response to the passionate fans.

His face was full of smiles.

Behind him, players like Suker and Modrić faded into the background.

Even with good performances, they couldn't draw much attention beside this Croatian hero.

"We played a messy second half," Šuker said quietly.

Modrić nodded. "They locked you down too tightly. You couldn't drop back to collect the ball, and the attack up front fell apart."

Šuker looked past Modrić toward the end of the group where Mandžukić trailed.

Mandžukić had his head lowered, expression unreadable, but his dejection was palpable.

Whether you can prove yourself and perform well is something no one else can help with.

You must rely on yourself.

Fortunately, they still got the win, and Šuker had an excellent debut.

That night, newspapers across Croatia printed headlines about Davor Šuker's return debut.

Two goals in his debut—Davor Šuker was undeniably the man of the match.

"Magical Golden Left Foot!""Two Goals! Davor Šuker Dominates!""This is What a Croatian Star Looks Like!""Davor Šuker Leads a Youthful Dinamo Zagreb!"

Out of ten articles, nine were about Davor Šuker. The remaining one was a detailed game report.

Suker got a brief mention for his performance, but under Davor Šuker's dazzling aura, he failed to attract much attention.

Still, winning their first game of the season gave Dinamo Zagreb a strong start.

There were issues, of course, but the team was still gelling and improving.

After the first game, coach Bešić gave the players a small break on Sunday to rest.

For the Dinamo players, days off were rare and cherished.

But some players chose to use the time for extra training.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

Mandžukić pounded away on the treadmill.

Each footstep was heavy and deliberate, his labored breathing and the sound of the treadmill showing just how exhausted he was.

Sweat flew off his swinging arms.

Beep!

A whistle blew.

Mandžukić gradually slowed down. Once he fully stopped, he leaned on the treadmill's handles, gasping for air.

As he rested, fitness coach Losperić said, "Mario, days off are for resting."

Catching his breath, Mandžukić replied, "I can't rest. I still have a lot to improve."

He couldn't stop thinking about his terrible performance in the last match—it weighed heavily on him.

Everyone else had done well; only he had performed badly.

He knew the second half turned sloppy largely because of him.

He needed to work harder.

The gap wasn't insurmountable—he just needed more effort.

"Let's go again!"

The hum of the treadmill and steady breathing filled the training room as Mandžukić continued sweating through his extra training.

Meanwhile, in Šuker's dorm—

"What are you guys doing in my room?"

Šuker stared at the guys gripping controllers, immersed in a FIFA match.

Srna had just bought a game console the day before, and today he brought it to Šuker's room to hook it up to the TV.

Besides Srna, there were Dujmović, Modrić, Pranjić, and Vukojević—six people including Šuker.

Eyes glued to the screen, Srna said, "My family doesn't know I bought this, so I had to set it up here!"

Dujmović added, "This is our base from now on!"

"Why here?!" Šuker pointed at Dujmović. "He lives next door. Why not go there?"

"Too smelly!" Modrić said seriously. "Trust me—you don't want to sit in a room that smells like feet."

Šuker: "…"

He slumped onto the couch, watching them play.

"Where's Mario?"

Srna asked.

"Extra training," Šuker replied.

Srna was stunned. "Training? On a day off?"

Šuker shrugged. "He's really bothered about yesterday's performance."

Still mashing buttons, Dujmović said, "He really blew his debut."

Šuker: "Mario's strengths are his height and timing. His goal sense is solid, but he runs all over the place—he lacks positional awareness."

"Needs more cohesion!" Pranjić said with a mouthful of chips. "Even during training, he's been out of sync with us."

Srna glanced at Šuker. "Aren't you going to help him?"

Šuker rolled his eyes. "He's not a kid. Some things you just have to face yourself."

"But he can't practice positioning alone," Srna pointed out.

Surprised, Šuker asked, "You're going to help him?"

Srna scratched his head. "I'll try to. Mario has a lot of potential. If we develop him properly, he could be a real threat in the center."

Then he turned and asked, "You guys interested?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Nope!"

Srna grinned, raised his finger, and said to Šuker: "One Chinese dinner!"

There was a Sichuan restaurant in Zagreb, but it was expensive. So far, Šuker had only eaten there once.

The moment he heard that, Šuker grabbed Srna's finger.

"Deal!"

He kicked Dujmović's butt. "Get up! Time to change!"

"Why me?" Dujmović protested.

"Rent," Šuker said firmly. "If this is going to be your base, you pay rent. Otherwise, next time, the console's gone!"

Hearing that, Dujmović reluctantly got up.

The others followed after more prodding.

Srna smiled to himself.

As they stood up, Modrić asked Srna, "Why didn't you talk them into it yourself?"

Srna shrugged. "I can't. Šuker's the boss."

Every team has its cliques—formed naturally based on shared traits.

This little group had bonded over age and ability.

Within every clique, there's usually a leader.

Srna wasn't exactly right—Šuker wasn't officially the leader yet. But his debut performance had earned everyone's respect.

That gave his words more weight.

Truthfully, all of them, including Šuker, quietly accepted this little group and tried to fit in.

As long as the requests weren't outrageous, no one said no.