Whoosh!The ball dropped into the field, and Suke scored with a brilliant chip.
Mlinar couldn't help but shout.
It was a link-up between Suke and Modric—a classic one-two play.
Suke's perfectly timed forward run matched Modric's through ball to create the goal.
Modric looked at Suke with surprise once again.
Suke had once claimed he was good at making forward runs. Modric hadn't taken it seriously at the time.
But this goal proved it.
And more than that, Suke had a knack for shaking off defenders—another impressive skill.
"That's it for today!"
Oripe clapped his hands and called out.
Everyone gradually walked to the sidelines.
Suke took off his jersey, wiped his sweat casually, then scooped two bowls of water from a nearby bucket, handing one to Modric.
"If you were on our team, we'd definitely get promoted to the First Division—or even the Super League."
Modric took the water and fell silent, clearly unsure how to respond.
Suke smiled and said, "This Saturday is our season finale. After the match, it's back to work."
Modric was surprised. "Season finale? Already?"
It was only mid-April. Why was the season ending already?
Apparently, Modric didn't know about the unique schedule of the Bosnian Second Division.
Suke explained, and Modric nodded silently, not saying much more.
Suke didn't press the conversation either. Internally, he was looking forward to Saturday's final match.
Not just to test his ability and new tactics—but also for the post-game card draw and season rewards, which he found exciting.
Based on past experience, the season reward draw often gave great cards.
"How's your team doing now?" Suke asked casually.
Modric was silent for a moment, then said, "No chance of winning the title this season."
Mostar Zrinjski wasn't doing well. They were under pressure from FK Sarajevo, and the points gap was too wide to close.
"What about you?" Suke continued.
Modric replied, "I'm working hard. Next season should be better."
His tone revealed he wasn't doing too well.
Suke nodded. "No need to rush."
At that moment, Oripe waved from the truck and shouted, "We gotta go!"
Suke called back, "Coming!"
He turned to Modric and smiled. "I have to go. Got a shift later. If you have time, come watch our match."
Without waiting for a response, he ran off.
Modric watched Suke hop onto the truck. As it disappeared in a cloud of dust, he softly muttered, "Saturday, huh?"
Finding work was extremely difficult—especially for someone like Suke, a minor.
There was a machinery factory near Mostar, which had job openings. But such jobs were highly sought after by locals. Suke had no chance.
For him, informal, off-the-books jobs were the only real option.
Mostar's economy relied heavily on tourism.
Over the past year, Suke had tried everything: tour guide, dock worker, dishwasher, waiter—even street performer.
Any job that made money—he did. Still, it was tough to make ends meet.
Fortunately, with the World Cup approaching, many bars needed extra help.
For instance, Mostar Wanderers' goalkeeper Bakic was already converting his shop into a bar.
But it was a DIY job.
Hammering noises echoed.
Suke, with two nails in his mouth, a hammer in hand, gloves on, straddled a beam, mounting a TV bracket onto a support column.
After hammering the final nails, he shouted down, "How's the angle?"
Bakic looked left and right and gave a thumbs up. "Looks good!"
Suk grinned. "I was Mlinar's apprentice, remember!"
Mlinar was the town's only carpenter and well-respected.
Suke had worked for him before.
Sliding along the beam, Suke hugged the column and climbed down.
He dusted his hands and said, "Free labor for your renovation. Don't forget your promise—hire me during the World Cup!"
"Yeah, yeah," Bakic waved him off. Then pointed outside, "Assemble the lamp stands out front, wipe the tables—consider it your dinner pay."
At the mention of food, Suke saluted instantly.
He darted outside, and soon the clanking resumed.
Bakic looked at Suke's back and chuckled, then got back to work.
Thanks to Mlinar's guidance, Bakic's direction, and Suke's labor, the bar renovation was done in just four days.
The former restaurant now resembled a medieval tavern.
With smoky wood structures, dim roof lights, a sign that read "Bakic's Tavern," and two barrels at the entrance—it had real charm.
Even before stepping inside, you could smell the rich aroma of rum.
The three were quite pleased with the result.
Town residents passing by sized up the bar—clearly judging where they'd watch the World Cup.
"Renovation's done. Tomorrow's match day. Get some rest," said Mlinar, waving goodbye.
Suke called out, "Don't forget your promise—to play another half season!"
Mlinar waved and smiled in response.
Bakic glanced at Suke, still hanging around, and said, "Shouldn't you be going?"
"You heartless man!" Suke snapped. "Your employee's starving! Isn't it dinner time?"
Bakic grinned. "You've already mooched how many meals before even starting work?"
Suke pointed at the tavern. "I worked hard on this!"
Bakcic shook his head. "Come on in."
His cooking wasn't fancy, but it filled Suk up—despite the lack of meat.
After dinner, Suke didn't linger. He patted his pants and left.
After all, tomorrow was the season finale.
The next day, the field near the ranch once again filled with fans.
Though fewer than usual—likely because people were getting busy with work—over 100 fans still came.
That's a strong turnout for a Second Division match.
As usual, Oripe moved through the crowd collecting tickets—this would help fund next season, including travel and lodging.
The last match was a home game—a major plus for Suke and his team.
They were playing the league's top team, Leotar—soon to be promoted to the First Division.
Leotar was a newly formed, dominant team this season.
Unlike other lackluster Second Division teams, Leotar had real ambition—they aimed for the Premier League.
With a professional structure, solid finances, a coaching team, and fierce players, they were on another level compared to Mostar Wanderers.
It was like a militia vs. a group of bandit.
Leotar had already secured the championship and promotion—they had no pressure.
So for them, this last match was just fun.
But they hadn't forgotten Mostar Wanderers—especially two players:
No. 9 Suke, the small forward.
No. 10 Mlinar, the midfield core.
"Hey! Suke—try getting past me this time!"
A sudden shout rang out.
A huge man, about 190cm, stood among Leotar's lineup, taunting Suke. It was directed at him alone.
This was Leotar's center-back Unovic. With a huge frame and a face full of scars, he was an intimidating presence.
But last time they met, Suke had scored a hat trick against him.
Suke's brilliance had nearly sunk Leotar—until Mostar's "butterfinger" keeper gave the match away.
Still, for Unovic, Suke had humiliated him.
Suke glanced at him calmly and raised three fingers—a reminder of those three goals.
Unovic was furious. "You won't score today!"
His teammates, though, burst into laughter—clearly enjoying the scene.
"All right," said Oripe. "Final warm-up. Let's try what we practiced—show them our new tactics."
"Don't stress. Just treat it like a friendly."
Suke tightened his socks, then followed his teammates onto the field.
The crowd greeted them with loud cheers.
In this entertainment-starved town, these weekend matches were their biggest joy.
Saturday: Mostar Wanderers played.
Sunday: Zrinjski Mostar played.
But compared to the dull, predictable Zrinjski, the Wanderers—despite being a Second Division team—delivered surprises and drama.
That's why their matches were always so popular.