Sure! Here's your Chapter 22
Mostar Zrinjski Iski's attack originated from the wings, in line with the classic Dutch tactic of fully utilizing the width under the Total Football philosophy.
After stopping the ball, Boame didn't rush to pass. Instead, he leisurely controlled it at his feet.
Although Vitolich had already charged toward him, Boame, confident in his skills, didn't take the opponent seriously.
Vitolich cautiously adjusted his footing. Seeing this, Boame began feinting multiple times, shifting his body weight to fake a breakthrough, a playful expression on his face.
Just as Boame was confidently preparing to break down the wing, fierce footsteps suddenly came from behind.
Before he could even turn his head, a loud shout came:
"Take him down!"
Vitolich immediately sprang into action, charging Boame.
Caught off guard by the sudden aggression, Boame hurriedly tried to pull the ball back. But in that moment, he caught a glimpse of someone cutting in fast from behind.
The yellow and black striped jersey meant this wasn't a teammate.
In a panic, Boame hastily passed the ball.
Just then, Suk stretched out his short legs with all his might. Though his legs were short, they were just long enough.
Bang!
The ball hit his foot and rolled towards Mostar Wanderers' half, where Mlinar quickly gained control.
"Wow!"
On the Zrinjski Iski bench, their main striker Kosopek straightened up slightly in surprise.
Clearly, Suk's pressing and interception had played a crucial role.
Modrić nodded with a smile, his eyes still locked on Suk.
Suk got up off the ground. Instead of pushing forward, he ran horizontally to meet the ball.
At that moment, most players' attention was on Suk. Zrinjski's defense compressed toward the center.
Mlinar, with the ball at his feet, sprinted forward and made a pass under pressure.
Suk received the pass while still running sideways. With a quick pullback and a ninety-degree turn, he sprinted ahead—without even touching the ball again.
Mlinar, free of his marker thanks to that pass, picked up the ball and surged down the middle.
Their swift one-two had thrown Zrinjski's entire defense into disarray.
Mlinar drove up the middle while Suk sprinted along the wing.
The two Wanderers wingers, Vitolich and Masložić, cut inside. Zrinjski's defenders didn't know who to track.
"Stop him!" shouted Rovisterki, Zrinjski's fullback, pointing at Mlinar.
Hearing this, several midfielders quickly closed in.
Just then, Mlinar passed the ball wide.
It landed perfectly in front of the sprinting Suk.
Rovisterki dashed toward Suk, but he was too far.
With no time to adjust, Suk curved his run and swept the ball into the center.
It zipped between Zrinjski's fullback and center-back, landing right in front of goal.
"Danger!!!—" the commentator finally shouted.
Vitolich and Masložić both lunged in with sliding tackles but missed the ball. It slipped past them and was eventually cleared by Zrinjski's other fullback, Sterlk.
Crisis averted.
"A brilliant and fluid counterattack! From interception to shot, just four passes tore apart Zrinjski's defense and created a threat in front of goal. They were unlucky not to score, but Wanderers delivered a masterclass in counterattacking."
The commentator was fired up.
What had seemed like a one-sided match was now turning. Wanderers were intercepting, pressing, and threatening Zrinjski's goal.
And at the heart of it was Suk, number 9.
His interception and two key passes were the glue of the whole counterattack.
This little bean... he's no ordinary player!
Ahhhhh—!!!
Suk clutched his head in frustration.
What a chance! How could they waste it?
Vitolich and Masložić had no nose for goal!
But Suk didn't linger. He turned and sprinted back to defend.
All eyes in the stadium, including those of the opposing players, followed Suk.
Especially Van Stejak, who stared blankly at him.
He hadn't expected this kind of performance from Suk—a series of one-touch passes, avoiding physical duels, linking attacks.
Minimizing his weaknesses. Maximizing his strengths.
From the opening minutes, he had been outstanding.
Van Stejak's attention was now firmly on Suk.
"A center forward retreating to defend!" Van Stejak nodded approvingly.
In modern tactical thinking, some would criticize Suk for not focusing on attack.
But for a Dutch coach devoted to Total Football, he admired Suk's movement and commitment.
"This kid has spirit!"
Van Stejak nodded again, then frowned at his own team's lifeless offense.
"What are the fullbacks doing? There's space ahead! Cut inside!"
He roared in frustration.
Truthfully, Van Stejak's job hadn't been going well. Implementing a new system in a new team was already hard.
And these Bosnian players—big, strong, and clueless—only knew how to fight for possession in midfield. They had no concept of tactical movement or spacing.
Explaining tactics to them was like playing the lute to a cow.
Even now, they didn't understand transitions or coordinated passing.
If not for Modrić's presence, Van Stejak would've already lost hope.
But now, with a full bench squad and no Modrić to steer the midfield, the match had become chaotic again—especially with Suk's relentless pressure disrupting everything.
"Transition! Transition!"
"Push up! What are you afraid of?!"
"Fall back! Fall back!"
"Why are you standing still? Their center forward's defending—why aren't you?!"
Van Stejak's voice echoed across the field.
As the game wore on, Zrinjski's performance dipped.
Suk's tireless running and Wanderers' compact tactics were taking effect.
They broke up Zrinjski's plays again and again, launching counters through Suk's hold-up play and sharp passes to the wings.
Though they hadn't scored, they were repeatedly poking holes in Zrinjski's defense.
What was supposed to be an easy match had become a knife fight—both teams trading blows, testing each other's endurance.
The rhythm was messy. Zrinjski, once confident, were now nervous and disorganized.
Especially the defenders—Suk's passing kept rattling them.
Why is this little bean so annoying?
Because that's the point!
Suk kept gasping for breath, his stamina nearly drained.
But that had been the plan all along: burn through his energy in the first half, and force the opponents to burn theirs too.
And it was working.
They'd launched several threatening counters. Though they hadn't scored, they'd thrown Zrinjski into chaos.
As long as they didn't concede, this sense of pressure would continue building.
After all, if Zrinjski only managed a draw, it would be an embarrassment.
Especially since they underestimated their opponents.
Wanderers had come prepared. Their plan was working, and the psychological pressure on Zrinjski kept growing.
Suk wiped sweat from his brow and pushed even harder.
"Get him!"
Suk made a sliding tackle, blocking the opponent's passing lane. Mlinar and Vitolich closed in from both sides, and they stole the ball.
Suk jumped up, turned, and sprinted again.
Just as he was about to charge toward goal—
Beeep~~
The referee blew his whistle.
Halftime.
Suk stopped, chest heaving violently.
He looked at the clock. Forty-five minutes had flown by.
He swallowed and collapsed to the turf, breathing hard.
So damn tired.
He hadn't rested all half, constantly pressing and defending.
But under his leadership, Wanderers had executed the first half perfectly.
Halftime score: 0–0.
Suk lay on his back, a smile creeping onto his face.
Mission complete.
Hehe.
Just wait till the second half.
He opened his personal system panel and used a State Recovery Card.
Only two remained.
But Suk believed in using resources when they mattered most. You have to take risks when the moment calls for it.
Use good stuff when it counts.
A cool wave swept through his body. Suk let out a satisfied groan.
On the way to the tunnel, Zrinjski's center forward, Basterlov, looked frustrated. He wasn't happy with his first-half performance.
He'd had a few chances but failed to convert them.
And that damned short center forward had caused them all kinds of trouble.
Then he spotted Suk lying on the ground, gasping like a dying fish. A smug smile crept across his face.
He must be done. Ran himself into the ground.
There's no way he can keep that up in the second half.
Basterlov sighed in relief.
Then he saw Suk place both hands beside his head, arch his back, and suddenly pop up with a perfect carp jump.
"Hup!"
Landing in a steady horse stance, he trotted toward the tunnel.
Basterlov: "! ! !"