The match ended.
Mostar Zrinjski defeated Sarajevo Railway Workers with a score of 3–1.
The win helped them break free from a crowded tie on the table and secure a spot in the upper half. It also eased the pressure on head coach Van Stea.
During the post-match handshake, both teams lined up to greet each other.
Panting heavily, Šuker walked at the end of the line, giving high-fives to the Sarajevo players.
After high-fiving him, Bosche Nocchi turned to glance at the young boy who had embarrassed him during the match.
"Don't stare. We'll win next time," said Vukotić, patting Nocchi's shoulder to comfort him.
Bosche Nocchi stayed silent for a moment, then muttered, "He's still young… probably still growing."
"Huh?" Vukotić raised an eyebrow.
"If he gets taller—and gains enough strength to challenge physically and win headers…" Nocchi trailed off.
The two of them fell silent. They couldn't imagine that scenario.
But thankfully, for now, Šuker was still just a little kid.
"Come on, let's go thank the fans!"
With the two vice-captains absent, goalkeeper Kiš served as the acting captain.
He hoisted Šuker onto his shoulders and laughed. "Let them see our best player!"
Šuker, a bit afraid of heights, clung tightly to Kiš's neck. But facing the cheering crowd, he soon relaxed.
"Šuker, you were amazing!"
"We'll be back to support you next game!"
"That save was incredible!"
"Kiš, Šuker saved your butt!"
Kiš laughed. "I know! That's why he gets to sit on my neck!"
Everyone around burst into laughter.
Šuker waved enthusiastically.
Winning the fans over in his debut meant a lot to him.
Back at the bench, Van Stea pulled Šuker into a tight hug.
The coach didn't say anything—but Šuker could feel his pounding heartbeat.
Finally, Van Stea gave him a firm pat on the back before walking away.
That silent hug spoke volumes about how much he valued him.
"You were amazing!" said Kosopeć, walking over and offering a high-five.
Šuker jumped up and slapped his hand. "Captain, I avenged you! Hahaha!"
Everyone nearby laughed.
Mašović chimed in, "Kosopeć nearly lost his mind against Bosche Nocchi, but you drove him crazy. You're stronger than the captain!"
Šuker quickly waved it off. "No, no! The captain's still the strongest. I'm just a little behind."
Laughter rang out again.
Winning always felt good—but this win was especially satisfying.
There had been struggles, but they had pushed through and emerged victorious. Even more exciting, their brand-new tactics had proven effective.
Coach Van Stea was clearly in a good mood. "Take tomorrow off. We'll resume training the day after!"
Cheers erupted.
The players left the stadium joyfully, singing all the way.
On the bus ride back to the training base, everyone quickly fell asleep after the exhausting match.
Even Modrić, sitting next to Šuker, was dozing off.
But Šuker was still wide awake, his mind buzzing with energy.
He opened up his card-drawing system—his first draw since joining the Bosnian Premier League.
As the system loaded, the screen shimmered with ripples, like water disturbed by a drop.
New textures appeared on the once-plain panel, glowing faintly, with flickers of light giving it a techy vibe.
A system upgrade?
Excited, Šuker checked immediately.
While the overall layout hadn't changed much, a fourth panel had appeared. The three previous ones—Personal Panel, Attributes Panel, and Card Draw Panel—were now joined by a fourth, locked behind two thick iron chains.
The panel's purpose was unclear. Nothing inside could be explored—it was undeveloped and inaccessible for now.
Šuker tried several times to unlock it, but the chains wouldn't budge. Eventually, he gave up.
It probably required a higher league level to access.
Still, this was promising—it meant that as the league level rose, new features would be unlocked. Maybe one day, it would allow him to equip more than six cards at once.
Shaking off the thought, he focused on the present and opened the card-drawing panel.
He prayed silently.
Swish swish swish!
The familiar shuffle and cutting animation played.
Five cards appeared.
Four of them glowed red—Red Cards!
He examined them one by one.
---
White Skill Card – Barry's Foot Speed
Barry, a player in South Africa, is known for his nimble footwork and high step frequency.
Effect: +5 Speed
Useless.
With Andrei's Swift Feet card already equipped, this was child's play in comparison.
Next were the Red Cards.
---
Red Skill Card – Vukotić's Shooting Technique
As the core striker for Sarajevo Railway Workers, Vukotić excels at goal-scoring, especially targeting the far corner.
Šuker's eyes lit up.
Vukotić had been a real threat in the last match—both passing and shooting.
And Šuker's current shooting cards weren't very effective. This one would be a perfect upgrade.
He tried to equip it.
Click.
Nothing happened.
He frowned and tried again.
Click!
Still wouldn't attach.
Frustrated, he opened his attribute panel.
Everything met the requirement—except for Strength, which had a red –2 next to it.
He was two points short.
Groaning, he clutched his head. This card could help him score more goals—and he couldn't even use it.
With no Strength-boosting cards on hand, his only option was food and training.
He'd eat more and train harder. He had to equip that card!
He checked the remaining three cards—and was stunned.
Three Recovery Cards.
Three!
In the last Bosnian Cup draw, he'd drawn two. Now he had six total.
Was the system that afraid he'd get injured?
Šuker didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
At this rate, he could afford to waste a few.
Around 6 a.m., the bus reached the training base.
Most of the players had gone home already. Only four stayed in the dorms: Šuker, Modrić, Boame, and Školnik.
Modrić stirred awake. Šuker tugged him up.
"Come on! Let's eat!"
Still half-asleep, Modrić was dragged along to the cafeteria.
Šuker grabbed a big bowl of rice and two slices of beef.
Just as he was about to sit down, Van Stea stopped him.
The coach eyed his tray with a frown, scooped out half the rice, and added extra beef and vegetables.
"Focus on protein and greens. You need proper nutrition."
Šuker had been malnourished for a long time, and it showed. Rice was filling, but not very nutritious.
But Šuker loved rice.
Watching half of it get taken away made his heart ache.
He returned to his seat, nibbling at his rice while stuffing himself with beef.
After the intense game, he was starving.
His stomach growled as he ate hungrily.
Seeing him, Modrić copied his style—eating rice like a starving ghost—and found it surprisingly tasty.
Just then, a timid voice interrupted them.
"Hey… can I sit here?"
The two looked up. Modrić glanced once and went back to eating.
Šuker, a chunk of beef still in his mouth, nodded. "Go ahead."
Školnik sat down cheerfully.
Šuker didn't know him well—probably around 19 or 20, about 175 cm tall. Solid build.
He remembered Školnik being quick during warm-ups. Not as fast as him, but close.
"Your performance today was really impressive," Školnik said, trying to make conversation.
Šuker kept eating, not replying.
Undeterred, Školnik tried again. "It's a day off tomorrow. Got any plans? Want to hang out?"
No response.
"I won't be a bother…"
Finally, Šuker reacted.
Without looking up, he picked up his fork and tapped the edge of Školnik's plate.
"Eat first!"