Dormitory, First Floor Dining Table.
Ever since Mandžukić and Suk moved in, the dining table had never been used.
The two always ate at the cafeteria.
But now, the table was filled with breakfast dishes.
Eggs, milk, slices of bread, vegetable salad, sausages, steak... there was even a bowl of rice.
Mandžukić sniffed the air and said, "My father told me that if you want someone's help, you need to have the right attitude. From now on, I'll make breakfast for you every day, clean the dorm, wash your dirty clothes, jerseys, and shoes. I don't have anything valuable, but look! What else do you want?!"
Mandžukić looked seriously at Suker.
Suker was speechless.
Mandžukić pushed the sausages in front of him.
"For you! Your favorite sausages—four of them!"
He sighed. "I don't have anything that can help you. You should talk to the coaches or experienced players."
"I tried!" Mandžukić sniffled again.
"But it's no use! They all say I'm too dumb and don't want to teach me."
Suker scratched his head. "Then what can I do for you?"
Mandžukić said firmly, "You're smart. The smartest among us. So I think you can help me!"
Suker replied irritably, "I don't even know how I can help you! Do you?!"
Mandžukić insisted, "You can!"
Suker was exasperated. This guy had the temper of a bull—just plain stubborn.
Suker grabbed a sausage and took a big bite.
"Alright, tell me. What do you want?"
"You ate it!" Mandžukić pointed at him. "You ate it, so now you have to help!"
Suker waved his hand dismissively, "Yeah, yeah, I ate it. Now talk!"
Mandžukić finally grinned widely:
Suker was stunned. "That's it?"
Mandžukić nodded eagerly. "That's all!"
Suker thought about it—this wasn't a bad deal.
Just pass the ball in training, and he'd get free labor in return—laundry, meals, cleaning, all handled by Mandžukić.
He clapped his hands immediately. "Deal!"
"I can't move anymore!"
That evening, Suke plopped down on the field. His training gear was soaked in sweat.
After the morning team training, Suk had been dragged by Mandžukić all afternoon just to practice passing.
He lost count of how many passes he'd made.
Mandžukić wasn't too bright.
To compensate, he came up with a dumb method—breaking down every passing and movement tactic into isolated drills and repeating them endlessly.
Even for a simple one-two pass followed by a lob and a run, he trained for hours.
If the brain didn't work, then build muscle memory.
That was Mandžukić's foolproof plan.
There's no such thing as a free lunch—he bought a whole afternoon of training with four sausages.
"You had breakfast!" Mandžukić pointed at Suker.
Suker turned and shouted, "I already paid off breakfast!"
"I washed your clothes and hung them out to dry!" Mandžukić added.
Suker's eyes widened. "When did you do that?!"
Mandžukić: "While you were at lunch."
He thought he was the clever one, but he'd been outsmarted by this stubborn idiot!
"Damn it! You leave me no choice!"
Suker activated a Status Recovery Card from his system.
Instantly, the fatigue vanished.
He grabbed the ball, gritting his teeth.
You big dumb ox!You like training, huh?
I'll train you till you puke!
"Let's go!! If you run slow, I'll kick your face!" Suker shouted, launching another pass.
In the coaches' office, head coach Bešić and assistant coach Kleiman stood by the window, watching the two sweating players on the pitch.
"You're pushing Mandžukić this hard—you're not afraid you'll break him?" Kleiman asked, concerned.
Bešić replied, "Mario's got unmatched physical talent, but his head isn't great, and he's unbelievably stubborn."
"At first, I tried gentle coaching, hoping to change him slowly. But when I realized that his stubbornness comes from pride, I changed my strategy."
Kleiman nodded. "Break his pride first, then rebuild him?"
"Something like that," Bešić said.
"Professional football is always risky—especially before a player fully develops."
"So you're sure he'll succeed?"
"No." Bešić shook his head, then smiled. "But isn't that the beauty of it?"
Kleiman chuckled. "Good thing Suker has a good personality. That's why he's willing to help. Anyone else would've been fed up hours ago."
Bešić smiled and nodded in agreement.
On the pitch, Suker's voice roared like thunder.
"Run! Run! That's too slow!"
"There's more than one option—can't you see the space behind you?! Why are you rushing?"
"Don't look at me—run! If you don't run, how can I pass?!"
"Is your head filled with crap?!"
As night fell, they trained until 7 p.m.
Suker stomped off first, furious.
He coughed a few times and rubbed his sore throat.
"You've got a cold?" Mandžukić rushed over, concerned.
It was because of him that he had shouted all afternoon and nearly ruined his throat.
Mandžukić gave a sheepish smile.
Despite being scolded the entire time, he understood Suker.
After all, someone as dumb as him was rare.
But Suker, despite all the yelling, never gave up halfway. He stuck with him until the end.
Mandžukić had gained a lot today.
After thousands of repetitions, that passing and running pattern had become second nature. He could now instinctively make the right moves and keep up with the pace.
As for Suker, he was mentally exhausted more than physically.
But Mandžukić gave him a pleasant surprise.
Though he was dumb, his physical strength was absolutely explosive. The source of this content ɪs novel-fire.ɴet
In aerial duels, his jumping was significantly higher than anyone else—he had a massive advantage.
If he and Suk built good chemistry, Mandžukić could become a dominant aerial force.
Now, Suker was genuinely looking forward to the day Mandžukić fully integrated into the team—and what kind of pressure he would bring to opposing defenses.
Back at the dorm, Suker quickly showered and changed.
When he came out, the washing machine was running and Mandžukić was mopping the floor.
"Your dirty clothes are done, shoes are cleaned, and I'm mopping the floor…"
Mandžukić grinned awkwardly. "Tomorrow…"
Suker glanced at him, drying his hair. "Tomorrow, we keep going! I'll train you till you puke!"
Suker and Mandžukić's training continued—and many of the young bench players noticed.
They thought Suker was easy to approach and wanted help too.
But Suker wasn't some do-gooder—he rejected them all.
Mandžukić had earned this training.
Even if he used a few tricks, Suker respected that.
And they were roommates, which made things different.
Match Day – Round 5Dinamo Zagreb vs. Rijeka
Maksimir Stadium was as loud and packed as ever.
After avenging their loss against Lokomotiva Zagreb, Dinamo Zagreb fans were relieved.
And their biggest hero in that game—Suker—had earned their deep affection.
So when Suker appeared wearing Dinamo Zagreb's No. 10 jersey, the whole stadium erupted in applause.
The No. 10 jersey wasn't just a number—it was recognition and expectation.
And Suker didn't disappoint.
"Suker dribbles laterally, messing up Rijeka's defense. He lobs it—Davor Suker makes a sharp run and heads it in! Beautiful! GOAL!!!!!"
"A brilliant passing move! Suker's lob sets up Davor Suk for the opening goal!"
"Dinamo Zagreb's offense is still fierce!"
The 40,000+ fans cheered like waves crashing ashore.
They chanted "Suker!" repeatedly.
No one knew if they meant the young Suker or Davor Suker.
But it didn't matter—both were brilliant.
While Davor celebrated with the team, Suker pointed back toward the bench.
Mandžukić immediately straightened his back.
This was the exact move they'd trained together all week.
Suker's gesture seemed to say: "Watch closely—next time it'll be you!"
Mandžukić clenched his fists.
He was itching to get on the field. He needed that pass.
He bounced his legs, unable to sit still.
The head coach Bešić noticed—and smiled.
Things were unfolding more or less as he had hoped.
He looked up toward the roaring stadium lights.
Mario—hurry up and grow.