Chapter 196: Milan! I'm Coming!

Mostar was still the same quiet and peaceful little town.

Today, the sunshine was especially bright. A few clouds drifted across the blue sky, and the sunlight was warm on the skin, evoking a sense of laziness and ease.

Suker stood on the old bridge, surrounded by passing tourists and pedestrians.

They walked slowly, chatting and laughing, full of joy and contentment.

Below the bridge, the river still flowed swiftly, but Suker no longer had to perform diving shows here.

He walked down from the bridge and followed the riverside path south. Before long, he saw a low-built house.

This was Oripé's house. Compared to when he left, the place had become overgrown with weeds.

Oripé wasn't someone who could take care of himself. Back when Suker was still here, he would at least tend to the yard occasionally. But now, it was completely unkempt.

Weeds had grown up to knee-height, and even the stone where Suker used to sit at the entrance was buried beneath them.

"This guy Oripé really plans on staying single for life?"

Suker shook his head.

He always felt someone like Oripé should get married early—both to settle down and to have someone look after him.

But Oripé seemed to have nothing but football in his head.

Suker reached the door and found it locked.

Sure enough, he lifted the doormat and found the key hidden underneath.

He skillfully unlocked the door. A pungent smell immediately rushed out—a mix of body odor, foot odor, and fermented food.

Suk quickly opened the door wider and stepped into the dim room. He drew back the curtains and opened the windows to ventilate.

The floor was a mess—scattered trash, bread crumbs, and even half a broken eggshell.

The coffee table was covered in dozens of empty beer cans.

Suker shook his head and walked straight to a door on the left side of the house.

He opened it, greeted by a musty smell. The curtains were still closed, but the room was surprisingly tidy.

Even the bed had a plastic bag on it.

Suker vaguely remembered—it was for storing shoes. He had told Oripé to throw it out, but of course, the guy never did.

The room had remained exactly the same, as if it were waiting for its owner to return.

"Time to clean up."

Suker tossed his backpack on the bed, rolled up his sleeves, soaked a cloth in water from the bathroom, and got to work.

The place was messy and filthy.

It took Suker three whole hours to clean everything.

Afterward, he was drenched in sweat. He took a refreshing shower in the bathroom.

Grabbing a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, Suker took a big gulp.

His eyes caught sight of a supporting pillar across the room.

Suker raised his eyebrows and walked over.

Near the bottom of the pillar were deep scratch marks.

He ran his fingers over them, and a smile crept onto his face.

Yes.

This place held all the memories of his days in Mostar.

Creak—

The sound of the door opening.

Suker turned his head.

There stood the chubby figure of Oripé, holding a plastic bag filled with beer.

Suker immediately turned around and shouted:

"Surprise!!"

Oripé froze for a moment—then wailed like a ghost.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

"Suker!!!"

Oripé dropped the bag, opened his arms, and charged at Suker.

Suker laughed heartily and met him halfway, pulling him into a big hug.

"You're back! You're really back! I can't believe it!" Oripé looked him up and down, noting how Suker had grown taller. He grinned and said, "You're taller than me now!"

Suker tilted his chin. "176 cm! Almost 180!"

"You promising little brat!" Oripé hugged him tightly again.

The two sat on the sofa.

Oripé sighed, "When we saw you on TV playing against Real Madrid, Manchester United, and AC Milan in the Champions League, we couldn't believe it."

"This little brat—how did he end up on the biggest stage in Europe?"

He was full of emotion.

"Three years went by so fast. Your growth is unbelievable."

Suker chuckled and took a sip of water. "You guys still playing in the second division?"

"Yep," Oripé waved. "But all the players you knew have retired. It's a team of new kids now. A few promising ones. We're aiming for promotion this season!"

Suker's eyes gleamed with nostalgia.

"They're all doing okay?"

"Yeah," Oripé nodded. "We've all gotten older. They know they won't make it big anymore. Some stayed in Mostar, others moved on."

Suker nodded. "How about tonight we get together at Bakic's place? Call everyone up?"

Oripé gave a thumbs-up. "Great idea!"

Under the moonlight, warm lights glowed from the windows of Bakic's Tavern. A "Closed" sign hung on the door, but inside, it was full of laughter and cheer.

Suker raised his glass and passionately described:

"It was the Santiago Bernabéu! Do you know what it feels like when 100,000 people scream together?"

He shook his head. "Your legs tremble, the world spins. And we were facing Ronaldo, Beckham, Zidane, Raúl, Figo—all the top stars!"

BAM!

Suker slammed the table and shouted, "But we didn't flinch. We fought with everything we had! We held Real Madrid to a draw over two legs. Impressive, right?"

"Hell yeah!!"

Everyone laughed and cheered.

Mlinar and Bakic held beer bottles, watching Suker.

Their eyes were full of emotion.

The youngest kid on the team had become the Champions League's Best Young Player, the Golden Boot winner.

This season, he even broke van Nistelrooy's single-season Champions League scoring record.

Suker's achievements had European media screaming, "God!"

And for those who used to train beside him—it was even more surreal.

"So, where are you going next season?" Bakic asked eagerly, full of gossip-fueled curiosity.

"Milan! AC Milan!" Suker said casually. "Contract's signed. I'll be playing there next season."

WHOA!!!

An uproar.

AC Milan!

Suker had joined a footballing giant!

"God! Give me a second!" Bakic chugged a beer and slapped Suker on the back. "You're incredible."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

From second-tier obscurity…

To the top of Europe!

Three years ago, he was just a nobody in Bosnia's lower leagues.

Now, he was a Champions League star and a player for one of Europe's top clubs.

They were all stunned.

"In the future, I'll tell my kids I was the midfielder who passed the ball to Suker," Mlinar toasted him. "Here's to you, Suker!"

Suker smiled and downed his drink.

"I have to thank you too, boss. Back then, with my height, no one believed in me—but you kept feeding me chances." Suker grinned. "Boss, how about a comeback season?"

"Get lost!"

Mlinar laughed. "You already tricked me into playing half a season extra. Then you ran off first!"

Everyone burst out laughing.

Suker scratched his head and smiled sheepishly.

That one was on him.

As the night wore on, they laughed and talked.

Suker suddenly asked, "How's Zrinjski Mostar doing these days?"

Bakic replied, "After you and Luka left, they went back to how they were. Especially with Van Stoyak returning to the Netherlands and Kosovic transferring out—the team has completely changed."

"Van Stoyak's back in the Netherlands?"

"Yeah, he wasn't going to stay here forever. And he did a great job at Zrinjski, so now he's coaching in the Dutch league."

"And Kosovic?"

"Just joined Slaven Belupo in Croatia this year," Mlinar said. "Now, only the goalkeeper Kisch is left as captain. Meazza and Skolk are still there, but everyone else has moved on."

Suker nodded, full of sentiment. "So much has changed."

"When are you leaving?" Oripé asked.

Suker: "I planned to go the day after tomorrow, but there's no need to visit Zrinjski again. I'll head to Milan tomorrow."

"Alright," Oripé nodded. "Then this is your farewell drink. This cup is to wish you great success in Milan."

"Go Suker!"

"We'll be watching you!"

"Take Serie A by storm!"

Suker laughed and raised his glass to their cheers.

That night was long and lively.

But all drinks must end. All farewells come in time.

The next day, Oripé got up and went to Suker's room, knocking on the door.

Knock knock!

"Time to wake up!"

No answer.

He pushed the door open.

The room was spotless. The bed neatly made.

On the bed sat two envelopes.

One thick, one thin.

Oripé opened the thick one first.

It was stuffed with euros.

He quickly opened the other—it was a letter.

Dear Oripé,

When I first came here, you were the first person to accept me. For a kid with nowhere to go and desperately seeking recognition, your words—"you've got talent"—became my drive to play football.

Undoubtedly, Mostar holds a special place in my heart.

Because of you! My mentor! My football "father"!

That's why I came here before leaving—not only to see you all, but to find my old self again.

Forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I hate those cheesy scenes. Just like now—after drinks, after goodbyes, everyone goes their own way, no need for tears.

Don't come looking—I left at 4 a.m. from Neum Port.

The other envelope has some money. Use it however you see fit. I trust you.

I love Mostar! I love everyone here!

Thank you for being part of my journey.

Thank you for taking care of me all these years!

Thank you for your guidance and encouragement!

Goodbye, Oripé!

Goodbye, my dear friends!

Goodbye, Mostar!

Across the wide Adriatic Sea…

Blue waves rolled under the bright sun, and a ship surged forward with the tide.

The salty sea breeze blew across the deck.

At the bow, a young man stood proudly, black hair fluttering in the wind.

Seagulls flew alongside.

In his eyes—the long coastline of the Apennine Peninsula slowly came into view.

A smile spread across his face.

He stretched out his arms, faced the wind, and shouted to the sky:

"Milan! I'm coming!!"