Banja Luka Warriors—a football club primarily composed of Serbs, located in Banja Luka, the second-largest city in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Their home stadium is called Banja Luka City Stadium, situated in the heart of Banja Luka.
Compared to Zrinjski Stadium, this stadium is somewhat larger, with an officially announced capacity of 30,000 seats. The east and west stands, which are standing areas, each have about 5,000 seats.
That's understandable, considering that Zrinjski Stadium only has 1,000 seats but is said to hold up to 20,000 people.
The Borac Banja Luka enjoy relatively better attendance, averaging around 1,500 spectators per match.
Of course, this is only in comparison to the poor turnout at Zrinjski Mostar and still far from the tens of thousands seen in top European leagues.
Zrinjski Mostar players entered the stadium from a side gate.
They had to cross the pitch to reach the player tunnel and enter the locker room.
As they stepped onto the pitch, nearly 1,500 Banja Luka fans gave them an intense "welcome."
Deafening boos filled the air, accompanied by waves of abuse and insults.
"You pig, Kosovic! You're a dumb pig! You'll fail here!"
"The Warriors will kick your heads off!"
"Disgusting Croat bastards, get out of here!"
All along the walk, the Serb fans hurled their most humiliating insults at the Zrinjski Mostar players.
Especially Kosovic, the team's attacking spearhead, who was targeted the most.
Still, Kosovic looked as sleepy as ever, seemingly used to this sort of thing.
"They scream because they fear me."
Yawning, he grinned and said, "Last match, I scored four goals at their stadium. The more they hate me, the more afraid they are of me."
Suke followed beside him, trying his best to stay unnoticed—but it didn't work.
"You damn Croat kid! You'll learn what hell is here! Go to hell! All Croats should go to hell!"
A middle-aged, ball-shaped fat man yelled a torrent of abuse at Suke.
Suke froze, then turned back with clenched fists and sigh
Suke was angry but couldn't help finding it funny too.
As they crossed the pitch, the booing and insults didn't stop.
Once inside the tunnel, things finally quieted down a bit.
"Idiots," Suke muttered.
"Don't take it to heart. These guys are just losers," Kosovic said with a smile. "They don't just insult us—they'll yell at their own team for no reason too."
"They insult their own team?"
Sure enough, more swearing erupted from outside:
"Zakavich! Stop using your pig brain—just slide tackle! Do you even know how?"
"Luka Okic! You coward! Run! Where's your speed, idiot?!"
"Vranerich, we have a moron for a striker!"
Soon, the Banja Luka Warriors players came jogging into the tunnel, looking dejected and frustrated.
They didn't dare talk back—after all, it was their own fans shouting at them.
These fans were professional mood wreckers.
Both teams entered their locker rooms, changed into training gear, and began warming up.
Still facing boos and abuse, it felt like the fans were there to vent, not to watch football.
Suke couldn't help wondering what these people had gone through in life to be this bitter.
While picking up a ball, that same fat fan let loose on him again.
Finally fed up, Suke responded with an international hand gesture.
"Go eat shit, you dumb pig!"
He yelled back, then quickly ran off.
The fat fan froze for a moment, then turned beet red like he was about to explode, screaming at Suke even louder.
Suke ignored him and returned to the locker room with his teammates after the warm-up.
"In today's match, they'll likely be very aggressive. Keep the tempo under control and avoid injury," said Van Stoyak, looking at Suke. "It's your first time starting, and the intensity will be high. Protect yourself and manage your stamina, understand?"
Suke nodded immediately. "Got it!"
"Alright!" Van Stoyak clapped his hands. "Let's take three points from here!"
Led by their captain Kisch, the players marched out of the locker room.
Suke, as the center forward, stood at the end of the lineup.
When they arrived at the tunnel, the referee was counting players.
"Missing one?" the ref asked, noticing someone was absent.
"Here!" Suke shifted so he could be seen.
The ref looked at Suke—barely 160 cm tall—and paused before nodding.
On the other side, the Banja Luka Warriors players all turned to look at Suke.
This small-framed player wearing the #99 jersey for Zrinjski Mostar piqued their curiosity.
"He must be the #99 coach warned us about," Luka Okic said to striker Vranerich.
Vranerich looked Suke over. "Doesn't look threatening."
"Maybe he's deceptive," Luka Okic replied. "Coach said he's quick, likes to make runs behind the line, and has good passing skills."
Vranerich scoffed. "Strikers are meant to score, not pass!"
Then he shouted to his center-back: "Zakavich! Watch out—they've got a 150 cm striker!"
The Banja Luka Warriors burst into laughter.
150 cm and playing striker? Ridiculous.
"156 cm!" Suke suddenly corrected.
Vranerich blinked, seeing Suke staring right at him.
"That's right," Suke said seriously. "It's 156 cm. Also…"
Suke grinned, flashing his white teeth.
"I'm going to destroy you!"
Up front, Kisch couldn't hold in a laugh, then shouted, "You all heard what our striker said, right?"
"We heard!" said Masovic, glaring at Vranerich. "A guy who couldn't win a single aerial duel against me—where's that confidence coming from?"
Vranerich's face darkened.
Kisch raised his arm and shouted, "Crush them!"
The players shouted in unison.
Both teams took the field, and the booing resumed—nonstop waves of it, making it hard to tell whether it was aimed at the visitors or the home side.
It was all boos, no cheers.
Seeing all the fans cursing nonstop, Suke felt a tinge of sympathy for the Banja Luka Warriors players.
These people clearly lacked love—even their own fans didn't like them.
The teams took their positions. The match was ready to begin.
Banja Luka Warriors kicked off.
Suke took a deep breath, adjusted his mindset, and prepared to sprint.
At the sound of the whistle, Banja Luka Warriors passed the ball backward—and Suke, like a little cheetah, sprinted forward.
As the ball circulated back, center-back Zakavich received it—and Suke was already on him.
Zakavich quickly turned and shielded the ball, and Suke tried to poke it away.
He got a slight touch but couldn't take control.
Suke shook his head and held his position at the defensive line.
Oddly enough, the Warriors fans were mad again.
"Stop stalling! Pass the ball already!"
"One-touch passing, idiot! You wanna get tackled?"
"Zakavich is a clumsy bear!"
Suke looked at Zakavich, puzzled. The fans really seemed to hate him.
Zakavich's face darkened as he struggled to keep calm.
The Warriors maintained possession, slowly probing for chances.
Zrinjski Mostar set up their defense without pressing too hard early on.
Suke stayed near the back line, watching Zakavich closely.
Hmm… how to describe it?
This center-back looked… busy.
Once again, the ball came to Zakavich. He controlled it with the inside of his foot and faked a pass left, sending Suke that way—then passed right.
It was a smooth, elegant move.
But to the fans, it was a mortal sin.
"Bastard! What's with the fake move?!"
"You're a center-back! Move the ball quickly!"
"F**k your fancy tricks! If you can't play, get off the field!"
The fans kept yelling, and Zakavich's face grew darker.
After one aerial clearance, the fans shouted again:
After clearing the ball, he turned to the stands and flipped them off.
"Shut up, you disgusting pigs! Your mouths are full of dogshit!"
Immediately, the Warriors fans screamed louder.
Suke stood stunned at Zakavich's antics.
Trying to mark him while also arguing with fans?
Kick the ball—curse the fans. Flawlessly executed!