The next day, on the return bus trip.
Kosovic was sprawled out in the backmost seat, a bucket placed in front of him as he occasionally dry-heaved.
Van Stoyak frowned at Kosovic's hungover state and asked, "What happened yesterday?"
Biliar immediately pointed at Suker, "You should ask him."
Suker blinked innocently, "What does it have to do with me?"
"Weren't you the one stirring things up, pushing Kosovic and Ivan Kric into a drinking contest?" Masovich cursed with a laugh.
"They drank on their own. Nothing to do with me," Suker turned his head, refusing to admit anything.
Masovich and the others shook their heads helplessly. Last night Suker had been bouncing around, urging people to drink everywhere he went.
He was underage and didn't touch a single drop himself, but got everyone else wasted.
Especially Kosovic and Ivan Kric—they were carried back by teammates.
Because of this, Van Stoyak probably wouldn't be granting any more holidays.
Even though Mostar Zrinjski didn't have the strictest discipline, drinking during the season and getting wasted could seriously affect performance.
And that so-called nightlife in Sarajevo? Absolute nonsense!
Just a bunch of guys partying like punks.
Upon returning to Mostar, they were warmly welcomed by the townspeople.
"Great match!""We beat Sarajevo!""Top of the league! Haha! We're number one!""Modric, Suker, you guys were amazing!"
The welcome along the road felt a bit fake, but from the moment the bus drove into the town, residents stopped what they were doing, gave thumbs up, and offered praise.
Mostar isn't a big city. The only notable thing the small town has to show is this football club.
For years, they had been dominated by Sarajevo. Despite always claiming they were going to win the championship, they had never topped the Bosnian Premier League since its founding.
All the trophies in their cabinet were relics from the old Yugoslavian era.
That's why the town and the club desperately wanted a new trophy—a symbol of being champions of the Bosnian Premier League.
Back at the club, some of the higher-ups appeared to offer praise.
Beating Sarajevo was a big deal, so they had to offer some commendation.
Besides verbal praise, they also offered some financial rewards.
Though Mostar Zrinjski's financial situation wasn't great, they still gave monetary rewards to some of the top-performing players.
Especially Suker and Modric.
Modric received a goal bonus, and Suk got an assist bonus. That brought them some income in Marks.
Seeing the money go into his pocket, Suker felt both happy and secure.
Back in the dormitory, Suker took part of his salary from the past few months for daily use, and placed the bulk of it into an envelope.
"I'm heading out for a bit!"
He called out to Modric as he grabbed the envelope.
Modric was writing a letter. He waved silently in acknowledgment.
Suker dashed out of the dorm, sprinting down the hill path until he reached Oripe's house.
It was Sunday, and with no school, Oripe was home.
Even before entering, Suker was already shouting.
"Oripe! Oripe! I'm here!"
Oripe opened the door, and Suker zipped inside.
First, he went to the fridge, grabbed a glass of cold water, and downed it. Then he placed the envelope on the table.
"Help me get in touch with Kovich and have him send this money to the orphanage."
Suker had lived through hard times with barely any money to spare.
But he believed that when poor, one should guard their integrity, and when able, help the world.
When he was broke, even getting a bite to eat was hard.
Now that he was doing better and could save some money, he felt the need to send some of it to the orphanage.
Suker had grown up in an orphanage in a suburb of Zagreb, Croatia.
Though the orphanage was under a church, funding was limited. Most of the time, they had to rely on public donations and lived in poverty.
The old headmaster was a priest. Technically, priests weren't allowed to take outside jobs.
But the situation was so dire, he broke his vows and went out at night to do odd jobs just to support the orphanage.
If not for him, Suker and the others might have starved to death during those turbulent times.
So now that he had the means, Suker felt it was his duty to give back, even if it wasn't much.
Oripe understood and put the envelope in a drawer. "Kovich is heading back to port tomorrow. He's passing through Croatia—not Zagreb, but close enough to make a detour."
Suker nodded, "Thank him for me."
As he turned to leave, Oripe suddenly called out.
"Hey!"
"What?" Suker turned back.
"A guy came looking for you two days ago," said Oripe. "Said he was a football agent and wanted to reach you through me."
"A football agent?" Suker blinked.
In professional football, a good agent is extremely valuable.Like future stars Mendes, Raiola, Barnett...For players, a great agent helps manage career paths, solves off-field problems, and negotiates better transfers.
At present, Suker didn't have an agent. Everything was managed by his guardian, Oripe, and Suker made his own decisions.
Having an agent could lighten his load and let him focus on training and playing.
"Next time he—"
Knock knock!
A knock at the door.
Oriper got up to open it.
Standing there was a slim, middle-aged man in a suit and slicked-back oily hair—despite the hot weather.
His cheekbones were prominent, and a professional smile sat on his face. Overall, he gave off a bad vibe.
The man saw Suker and his eyes lit up.
"Pleasure to meet you, Suker. You can call me Potrac. I'm a professional football agent. Here's my card."
Suker glanced at him and took the card.
It listed an agency based in Bosnia, but he'd never heard of it.
Potrac looked past Oripe at Suk and said, "Can we chat? Your recent performances have been fantastic. I think you have a lot of untapped potential."
Suker looked at Oripe.
Oripe shrugged, "Talk a bit?"
Suker nodded.
"Come in."
Potrac smiled and walked in. When all three were seated, he began heaping praise on Suk, admiring his recent performance.
But when it came to career planning or his own background, he didn't say a word.
Listening to the endless flattery, Suk grew tired of it.
"Mr. Potrac, shouldn't we talk business now?" Suker's face showed impatience.
Potrac recovered and chuckled, "Yes, yes. Business. Important stuff."
He cleared his throat and looked at Suk. Suddenly, he asked:"Suker, want to make money?"
Suker froze. Then his face turned dark.
Oripe also realized what was going on and stood up, suppressing his anger. "Out!"
Potrac quickly added, "Hey, this is a great opportunity! You've been playing great—just slack off a little, and you'll still keep your starting spot. You don't even have to try hard. You'll make lots of money. Who says no to money?"
Suker's expression turned grim.
Oripe couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Potrac and yelled, "Get out! Get out of my house! You filthy rat! Suker would never agree to something so disgusting. Get out! Get out! Get out!!"
With Oripe's yelling, Potrac was shoved out the door.
"These people are like rats in the sewer. They only care about money. One slip-up and they'll have leverage over you," said Oripe seriously. "Suker, don't be tempted."
He was worried that Suker, being young and having lived through tough times, might be swayed by money.
But Suker took a deep breath and said firmly, "Don't worry. I won't agree to it."
He stood up. "I'm heading back."
"I'll walk you back!"
Oripe quickly put on his coat.
He was worried Potrac hadn't gone far and might try to harass Suker again.
Oripe escorted Suker all the way to the training base, and only left after watching him go inside.
Suker let out a sigh of relief.
He knew that professional football wasn't all sunshine—there were many shady dealings behind the scenes.
But he hadn't expected to be targeted so soon.
"Someone tried to get you to throw a match?"
In the dorm, Modric looked furious. "You should've punched that guy in the face!"
Suker said, "I've already turned him down. He won't give up so easily, so I'll try to stay within the club for now." Suker sighed. "The better you play, the more trouble finds you."
Suker was annoyed.
As his performance improved, shady people started circling.
He used to be too unknown and didn't have consistent playing time. But now, Suk had become a key player for Mostar Zrinjski.
That made him a target.
"That guy's name is Potrac, from a so-called Green Field Pro Agency in Bosnia, but I think it's just a shell company with a fake name," Suker said.
"Wait!" Modric exclaimed. "Are you sure it's Potrac?"
Suker nodded. "Yes, why?"
Modric said, "You'd better tell the coach. This could be more complicated than you think!"